


Impulse

by orchidbreezefc



Series: Rich Kids [2]
Category: Dangan Ronpa, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, M/M, non-imposter Togami - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 02:56:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8039728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidbreezefc/pseuds/orchidbreezefc
Summary: Togami finds the singer at a masquerade enrapturing, but also somehow... familiar? Maybe he's just imagining it.





	Impulse

**Author's Note:**

> I've been banging my head against this for quite a while, so I'm glad it's done! I really think this is a pairing that has a lot of potential, so I hope everyone else thinks so too. I was going to do a midquel, actually, but I think I painted myself into a corner with that one, so maybe a separate AU instead?
> 
> Thanks to Helen and Twyx for being great as always, and to Ama for helping me pick an aria (I went for "Mes amis écoutez l'histoire", you can listen to a rendition of it [link: [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WUBNwORdR9E)])! Izuru is definitely a tenor, I love how his scary, serious demeanor contrasts with him opening his mouth and out coming Hinata's soft baby voice. Maybe that's why he talks so little?

One might think it would be a welcome reprieve to not have to be Byakuya Togami, just for one night. To blend into the ninety-nine percent, or at least the upper nineties, and be able for once to be just another face in a crowd, without the pressure of an empire upon him. 

It's really just tedious. Togami's power is as important to his lifestyle as it is hard-earned; why should he want to sacrifice all that for an infantile sense of mystery? Having to puzzle out the worthiness of probable commoners gives him a headache. He would rather not talk to any of them at all lest they start imagining they're on his level--with a shudder he concedes that, with the anonymity, they would be correct, even artificially.

Still, one can gauge worthiness by other means than recognition, such as open displays of talent. And so Togami is drawn to the singer at the event, who is several notches above the orchestral band in skill. Actually, come to that, he is several notches in skill above anyone Togami has ever heard. His technique is perfect; his posture is precise and poised, and his voice is flawlessly steady through every note. 

The singer himself is beautiful as well, even though his face is obscured. His black hair is tied up in an impeccably neat and elegant style behind his head; his mask is an intricate work of black and red filigree. Something about the brown freckled hands steady at the microphone is familiar, but then, familiar is not a surprising quality for somebody at a masquerade. Togami may have seen plenty of these people, in pictures or at other events.

Yet somehow it seems unlikely that in the past he would have met such a person and failed to notice him. The way he holds himself is as proud as it is graceful, as beautiful as it is commanding. And certainly Togami could not have overlooked singing like this. Beyond its perfect technique, his voice has some quality that Togami can hardly describe, that puts to mind glass sculptures, not in its fragility but in its delicate artistry. Togami wishes he could hold it in his hands, precious and exquisite. 

And so he walks directly up to the singer as he steps offstage, neatly adjusting his mask. He and Togami simultaneously wave off an intervening bodyguard and the singer turns expectantly to listen to Togami's greeting. Togami takes his hand and kisses his knuckles, then says, firmly enough to convey that he doesn’t give compliments very often, “That was the best rendition of any piece from Le Postillon de Lonjumeau I’ve ever heard. Your high D was stunning. Not many tenors can reach that note at all."

Togami first expects a smile and a polite thanks, perhaps slight surprise at his ear for opera. Then the moment passes and Togami expects he won't get a response at all other than a stare. He's preparing to demand an answer when the singer nods. “I'd like to do more of my own work, but original compositions are not welcome here." His speaking voice is soft, nowhere near as commanding as Togami expected for someone of his stature and bearing. Almost as if he's not used to prestige; ridiculous of course, as he must have been a star from a very young age with this talent. "They only want well-known arias."

“What's your name?"

“I'm wearing a mask," the singer says. His voice is flat enough to almost be mocking. “We’re at a masquerade."

“Surely you won’t deny me the name to such a talented voice?" Togami presses. "What if I want to hire you?"

"I'm not available for hire," the singer says, unmoved. 

"Name your price, and I assure you I can meet it."

"How dull," he murmurs, and Togami seethes at the comment, but tries to keep the defensive anger out of his stance. The mask means no power to order people around; he'll have to be diplomatic. "I'm sure everyone here could meet any price I care to name."

Togami tilts his head up to appraise the singer from above. "What do you want, then? A starring role in any opera you like? Your name in lights? A job for the prime minister?"

The singer looks at him, tilting his head in a way that, combined with his feathered mask, makes him look like a large, beautiful bird. "You don't seem easily dissuaded," he says. "Find me after the next piece."

It's the longest aria of Togami's life. His impatience makes it impossible to lose himself at the music--at first. But the singer's voice is so spellbinding that soon he is listening and feeling emotions of yearning stir that he thought were long forgotten. In the end he almost forgets the singer's request by the time he steps off stage, but he hurries over and meets him halfway across the floor. 

Togami is about to say something when the singer holds out a hand. "You want to dance?" Togami says in surprise. It's not as if it's contrary to his purpose--whatever purpose that may be--but he was expecting an impartial business talk, at least at first.

The singer merely nods. Togami has no answer but to accept, still off balance from being wracked with emotion during the music. He allows the singer to lead him out farther onto the floor, but frowns when he curls around him to lead him through the dance as well.

"I’ll lead," Togami says, but the singer shakes his head and doesn't adjust his position.

"These negotiations are not yours to control," he says simply. 

He's right, of course. Still, Togami burns with the indignity, even though he is anonymous in it. All the same, he settles into step behind the singer. He is able to waltz backwards, in theory, but it's a bit difficult at first. It distracts him from the feeling in the back of his mind that the way he's being held is familiar somehow.

"Do you really want me to sing?" the singer says, his fingers creeping soft on Togami's waist. “You could pay for any singer. Why insist on me?”

Togami frowns. He isn't wrong; what is Togami trying to do here? No, no time to question his motives. He’s made a decision regarding what he must have, and he can’t go back on that.

The singer narrows his eyes, and from this distance Togami can see them, beautiful and scarlet behind his mask. "If it’s just because I'm unavailable and you're used to getting your way, I have no time for games." 

"Nothing so infantile," Togami says, willing himself to believe it. No, surely he has better reasons. "You are the best and I simply must have you. That's all there is to it."

The singer’s eyes turn searching, then he seems to have found what he’s been looking for. “So I’m an impulse buy." He looks somewhat amused for the first time, his mouth curving up just a little, and were Togami a different person he would want to sink into the floor.

But he’s not. He’s Byakuya Togami, so he firms his grip on the singer and says, "Absolutely not. I would like to hear your compositions." He considers, and then ventures to continue, "I could try my hand at playing for you personally."

The singer tilts his head as if he had not expected this; perhaps it would have been more along his expectations to offer an orchestra of the best musicians available rather than his own participation. "What do you play?"

"Violin," says Togami, "mostly. I wouldn’t mind accompanying with piano if that better suits your music."

"I can play either one," the singer says thoughtfully. "I’d rather sing and play piano. But you still have to convince me."

"Anything you want," Togami says. "Don't make me repeat myself."

The singer pauses, then rather than answer, half-sighs, "These events are so boring." He looks languidly around, sparing a hand from Togami to gesture slightly. "All the people are the same, all the conversations predictable. Everything within proper guidelines and perfectly in place. It's incredibly dull.”

He swivels his gaze back to Togami, who finds himself mesmerized by his red stare and the feel of his fingers brushing back against his waist. "I want something to entertain me. If you can do that, I'll be yours to do with as you please.” 

Togami feels a shiver go down his spine at the phrasing, but shakes it off and mulls it over. Entertainment? What does that mean for him? Something unexpected and unorthodox, it seems; Togami will have to go outside the box. But then the singer is speaking again. 

"I like you, you see," he says, the utter frankness stunning Togami; he can't be sure whether it is merely surprise that sets off something fluttery inside him. "You're predictable, but you take an effort not to bore me. I think it's your desire to conform that makes you so dull. It can be overcome."

Well. That's... informative. Perhaps all he needs is to go outside bounds a bit. He seems to have surprised the singer with his offer to play himself, so now what?

Togami tries to remember the last time someone really took him off guard. Well, it would have to be Hajime Hinata. As soon as the thought comes to him, he remembers the gala, and his instinct tells him to follow Hinata's example. “Would you like to get out of here?" he asks, lowering the hand in the singer's but not releasing his hold.

“Out of here?" he asks, tilting his head in a way Togami is starting to learn is a good sign, a sign that he has finally broken through and stirred some interest.

"Yes. Let's go walk the gardens."

The spark in the singer's eyes dulls slightly, but it's still there, waiting to be kindled. Togami is confident he can do that. 

The gardens are beautiful of course, cascades of green bedecked with colorful, delicate lights under a starry night sky. More than that, they have a hedge maze, which is perfect for Togami's purposes, certainly if he intends to pursue them as far as he had with Hinata that night. He forces down a blush at the memory. The place where he decides to stop is reasonably secluded, though they may have to move depending on how this goes; the real draw is the fountain and the gorgeous array of flowers.

He turns back to the singer, expecting him to be taking in the scenery, but his heart skips a beat when he finds those eyes trained searchingly on him.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Togami asks for a reason he cannot himself discern. He has no time for beautiful things normally, but someone should act as if the walk is anything more than a charade, he thinks.

The singer doesn't humor him. His gaze only grows impossibly more intense. It's uncomfortable, but Togami performs well under pressure. His hands go onto the singer's arms, lightly, almost familiarly, and he says, as earnestly as he can manage, "Almost as beautiful as your voice, and you." Before leaving time for the singer to speak, or hopefully react in any way, he dives in to kiss him. 

The kiss isn't bad, as far as Togami can judge. The masks are surprisingly unobstructive and the singer seems more receptive than not; he follows Togami's lead not particularly enthusiastically, but well enough. It's as measured and restrained as he himself seems to be, yet like him not impossible to work with.

Togami breaks it short for his question. "Well?" he demands, searching what he can see of the singer's expression. "Did you expect that?"

"Not quite," is the thoughtful reply. "But your attraction was clear."

"Was it?" Togami feels himself flush at the idea, not only that his feelings were found out, but that he was read so easily.

"From your body language during my song, yes. It only took a dance for me to touch you and confirm."

He had been watching Togami while he sang. Those eyes had been fixed on _him_. Togami sternly tells his head not to start spinning at the idea; it won't do to lose control now.

"Are you surprised, though?" he insists.

"What could be more unsurprising than pursuing base needs?"

Togami's heart falls, but he quickly redirects the feeling into annoyance. "It's surprising for me, I assure you."

The singer looks at him for a long time, then seems to accept his answer. He leans back in to kiss Togami, and this time it's like the world blooms into full color. The gold and blue in Togami's own suit, the green of the gardens, the red in the singer's mask and suit and eyes; all of it is more vivid somehow once he has deigned to put their lips together. Togami would never have thought such simple contact could be so stimulating, so electric.

He's reluctant to pull back enough to speak, but a few captivating moments of synchronized movement later, it becomes undeniable that he has something important to say. "Kissing you is--familiar," Togami manages. 

"Don't put too much stock in it," says the singer. "Kissing is rather uniform. Monotonous even." He looks up at Togami with very clear eyes indeed. "But you have chosen unusual circumstances. At least you're trying not to be boring. You have potential."

There is a pause, then he lifts his mask so Togami can see his entire face. A face he knows. "My name is Izuru Kamukura," he murmurs. He lowers his mask again and kisses Togami once more, and there's no mistaking it this time: it's a kiss he knows too. But just when the pieces have fallen into place in his mind, the singer is gone.


End file.
